


Through These Harsh Times

by Ninjaterra



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, i wrote this for an english assignment, meant to be canon compliant, might have added a few too many psiioniic/signless undertones, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:12:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninjaterra/pseuds/Ninjaterra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Violence goes against everything I have ever taught,” you state, though you can’t help the sound of complete and utter defeat from standing out in your voice. “If I act out now, I am just another hypocrite.” You hear the shuffling of feet as the crowd of high bloods moves closer to your group, but you remain with your head bowed. “If any of you wish to leave,” you go on, “I do not blame you. They are only after me, you know. Escape while you still can.” </p><p>Your name is the Signless and though the journey was long and hard, you feel this may be the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through These Harsh Times

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this story for an English assignment, so don't be surprised if there are random obvious terms that are explained at certain points or other troll terms are never used. (I needed to make it sound at least partially normal, ok?) Anyway, enjoy!

Your name is…well, in all honesty you were never really given a name, were you? Your guardian, the Dolorosa, always just calls you things like “my child”, “my darling”, “my little helper”, and other equally affectionate terms of endearment. She never seems to address you by a specific title, now that you think about it. You guess it has something to do with the fact that you had no star sign given to you when you first entered the world, which goes against the norm of Alternian culture. Troll names were often linked to the symbol they are given when they’re young, but seeing as you don’t have a sign you guess you never really got a name, either. You believe you ought to be called something, though. 

Your name is the Signless (Yes, that definitely has a nice ring to it), and you are currently having a nice dinner with your wonderful guardian. 

The Dolorosa is odd in many ways. For one, she’s raising you, a young troll. That in itself is strange. On Alternia, the youth rarely ever interact with adults if they can help it. Adult trolls are considered threats, much stronger and more dangerous than anything a young child can hope to beat if the adult decides to be hostile. Which, from what you’ve heard from your guardian, is more common than not. But the Dolorosa is an exception. She has been with you for as long as you can remember, living together in a house out in the middle of the wilderness, secluded from the rest of Alternian society. You’re not related, that you know for certain. She never really goes into great detail when you ask her how she ended up raising you in the first place, but you know not to pry. 

You consider her your mother, anyway. 

Another thing odd about her is that she often has these small panics whenever you injure yourself. You guess this is normal motherly behavior, but you think she sometimes over reacts. Normally, the Dolorosa is very calm and serene, a small, gentle smile often seen gracing her coal black lips. However, the smallest scratch on your skin and she’s instantly at your side, eyes wide with alarm as she asks if you are alright, pulling out seemingly ever present bandages from the folds of her dress to wrap your wounds. It kind of scares you when she gets like this, but she generally is back to her usual peaceful self soon after the injury is fully covered. 

Currently, however, your mother is being odd once more. This time over your state of dress.

“Honestly, darling, must you come to dinner so utterly filthy? I can’t see how you can eat while completely covered in dirt,” the Dolorosa reprimands, shooting you a disapproving look from across the table. You sink slightly in your chair, lips twisting into a small grimace.

“Sorry, mom,” you mutter. You brush at your black pants, sending small puffs of dirt raining down to the floor. You wince slightly, realizing just how dirty you really are. “I’ll clean up fully next time, I swear! The wind was just blowing dust everywhere today. It was crazy!” Your guardian’s lips twitch upward, obviously trying to fight back a smile as you wave your hands around dramatically to help her visualize the insane winds blowing just outside your house. 

“Alright, alright,” she chuckled, not being able to keep a straight expression in the face of your antics. “I believe you. I’ll allow it this time. But no excuses next time, mister.” You beam at her, picking up your spoon once more.

“I promise!” You quickly dig in to your mom’s delicious cooking, savoring every last bit of the warm, rich soup. Despite your relishing of the food, you finish in record time. You barely even have to give the Dolorosa a small, pleading look before she’s already slipping the bowl from your grasp, laughing as she moves to refill it once more. You smile contently, bouncing ever so slightly in your chair in eagerness. 

You glance out the window of your dining room, which looks out toward the front of your house, the side facing away from the forest. Your eyes catch on something, though, and soon your brows are knitting together in confusion. Despite your complaints about the powerful winds, the visibility outside is still pretty normal for this time of night (troll eyes being accustomed to seeing during the darker hours). So it doesn't take you long to spot an odd cluster of darker shapes that seem to be approaching your house from the distance.

“Mom…what are those?” you ask, pointing out the window. You guardian sets her spoon down from filling your bowl to glance in the direction you pointed. For a moment, she seems just as confused as you are. Then, her eyes widen to the size saucers.

The bowls fall to the floor with a crash.

“Dear,” she hisses quietly but clearly to you, her whole body tense, “Go put your shoes on. Now.” You don’t even stop to ask her what’s going on. You’d never seen your guardian look so completely and utterly terrified in your entire life.

It’s enough to strike fear into the heart of any child. 

The Dolorosa was eerily quiet as she sprinted about your house as fast as physically possible, grabbing a pair of cloaks and some food and a canteen of water. Rushing back toward you, she hastily straps the smaller of the two cloaks around your shoulders. Not saying a word, she grips your arm almost painfully tight and ushers you out the back door. You struggle to keep up as she all but drags you away from the house, moving as quickly as possible into the dense forest behind the building. The two of you don’t slow until your home is not even a speck in the distance. However, that doesn't stop you from seeing the large cloud of black smoke rising into the air from the direction you had just fled.

You've heard of the culling drones before from your mother, but she always seems to get very uncomfortable and nervous whenever you bring them up. From what she’s told you, they’re sort of like an army sent out to kill off people who go against Alternian royalty or something like that. You don’t know all that much about them, honestly.

What you do know is that group of them have just set your house aflame.

It was then that the Dolorosa tells you about the hemospectrum, the caste system for all trolls on Alternia. You always knew that trolls had different blood colors. You’ve helped bandage your mother when she accidently cuts herself when preparing a meal enough times to know she has blood the color of jade. However, you’ve always viewed it as just another fact of life, like saying she has black hair or gray skin or brightly colored horns. Just another physical trait. 

Oh, how wrong you were.

On Alternia, blood color means everything. If someone is lucky enough to be born with pure, fuchsia blood, then they are troll royalty, while maroon blood is considered the lowest of the low, with about as many rights and as much respect as a pile of dirt. 

The spectrum is divided into lower and higher classes, jade bloods being the highest of the lower blood class before teal bloods start off the grouping of the higher ones.  
As your mother explains the castes to you, you can’t help but notice that something was missing on the spectrum.

“Mom…” you cut in softly, confusion written clearly on your face. “Where’s my blood color on the ranking list?” The Dolorosa’s face morphs into a pained, almost pitying look, mouth tilting down into a tight frown as she seems to have to force her own response out past her lips. 

“It’s not.”

Your blood color isn't even in the system. No troll has ever had blood like yours before, bright and candy-apple red like some sort of alien. It just doesn’t happen. You were a mistake, an oddity.

A mutant.

Your mother finally tells you the story of how she first laid eyes on you. As a jade blood, she was given the job of caring for young trolls that had yet to be given off to their respective guardians, also known as lusi. Lusi (plural form of lusus) are completely white animal-like creatures whose only jobs are to raise troll young. Upon discovering your blood color, the Dolorosa knew that you were in danger of being culled for your mutation. So she made the decision that had changed both of your lives forever.

She saved you. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

'It was one of those dreams again', you think to yourself as you sit up with a groan, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. 

After the loss of your home, you and your guardian have been living in the wild for quite some time. You have claimed a cave on the edge of the forest as your own, its entrance facing out over the desert just beyond the woods. It’s hard – every night is a fight against nature and every meal is a tiring hunt. Still, you get by.

“Sleep well?” a familiar voice asks from behind you, and you turn to smile widely at your mother, who seems to also just be waking up.

“I slept great!” you exclaim, pulling happily at the hem of your cloak. “I had another amazing dream.” Your mother smiles serenely back at you, shifting closer to that she can pull you onto her lap.

“Oh? What was it about this time?” the Dolorosa questioned, smoothing out your hair absentmindedly. You lean back into her, eyes closing as you recall the wonderful dream.

“Well, I was in some strange neighborhood this time. And I was talking to another troll. He seemed kind of cranky at the beginning, but after we started talking he got happier and even smiled at me. I think we might have been friends.” You pause for a moment, remembering vividly the troll with the Aquarius symbol shirt grinning at you, the cheerful glint lighting his eyes as the two of you spoke. “The strange thing,” you continue, “is that he was a high blood. One of the highest classes, actually, because I could tell he was a sea dweller.” Your eyes fly open to stare up at your mother’s face, mouth split into a huge grin. “Isn’t that just amazing?”

The Dolorosa chuckles softly. “Yes, dear. That does sound quite nice.” 

Your mother only sees your dreams as just that – dreams. But to you, they are so much more than that. They feel more like long lost memories, actually. Memories of a life you lived before, one filled with peace and friendship. You believe that these dreams are more than just simply your own overactive imagination. They’re proof.

Proof that blood equality can be achieved. 

______________________________________________________________________________________

You’re hunting on the edge of the forest when you spot him.

Facing out toward the desert, you notice a distant figure among the sands, swaying and stumbling in the cold night. He’s but a speck to you, too far away to really take note of any features about him. Still, that doesn’t stop you from bolting out toward him the moment you see him collapse to the ground. 

Sand flies up behind you as you run toward the stranger, your better judgment leaving you as your only thought is to help this obviously injured troll. 

You stop a few feet from him, panting slightly from running. From this distance, you can easily take note of the other troll’s appearance.

You find him odd, with two sets of pointed horns on his head where most trolls only have one pair. When he looks up at you, you take a small step back in surprise, and you feel your own eyes widen slightly. His eyes are startling, one a bright red while the other is a rich blue. Both are without pupils. You regain your composure quickly, though, and take another step towards him. 

The second you move closer, the other troll drops down into a hunched bow, slightly off looking by the way he favors his left side. With a start, you realize that he has a large gash on that side, thick, yellow colored blood running steadily from the wound. 

“I’m sorry,” the stranger hisses, his voice heavily lisped due to a pair of fang-like canines sticking out slightly from between his lips. His tone is one submission, yet his voice betrays his youth. He must be about your own age, you think. He continues to repeat the same single phrase over and over, then. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Your eyebrows scrunch together as you stare down at him.

“Are you ok?” you ask, kneeling to get down closer to his level. He flinches visibly, but doesn't move away. You notice that his breathing becomes quicker, harsher, but you say nothing. The stranger doesn't respond to your question and a tense silence descends upon you both. After a long moment, the young troll’s gaze shifts up slightly to look you in the eyes. Confusion is written clearly on his face.

“You’re not…going to kill me?” he asks in an uncertain tone. The question startles you, and you blink rapidly in surprise, mind reeling.

“What?” you respond back, a little louder than intended. The stranger flinches again, so you lower your voice slightly. “Why would I want to kill you?” The stranger has moved out of his bowed position now; though he still turns his head back down to stare at the ground when he talks. 

“I was trespassing,” he mumbles, “I did not know this was your property. I’m so sorry.” His whole person gives off a feeling of complete and utter defeat. You’re confused for a moment before you realized that this troll probably assumed you were a high blood.

Your mother once told you that even young trolls barely interacted with each other outside of their respective broad-term ranking (high bloods interacted with high bloods and vice versa). In reality, a high blood could generally go wherever they pleased when it came to low blood territory. However, should a low blood dare to come onto the land of a high blood without permission, the high blood had full right to punish or even kill the trespasser if they so pleased. 

Your eyes widen immediately as you remember this, and you quickly attempt to wave of the stranger’s concern.

“No, no! I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. Here.” You reach into your cloak and retrieve a roll of bandages (a habit you picked up from your mother) and unwind them in your hands. “Let me help you.”

The other troll gives you a nervous look as you shift closer, shrinking away from your touch. “Why are you helping me?” he whispers, so quiet you had to strain your ears to hear him. You ignore the question anyway, choosing instead to begin wrapping his side tightly. You know you should clean the wound first, but seeing as you have no water on hand you guess you’ll just have to try and prevent more bleeding until you can bring him back to the Dolorosa. 

After you finish your work, you loop an arm around the stranger’s tense shoulders, pulling him to his feet.

“Can you walk?” you question. The stranger nods slightly, letting out a pained wince.

“Yes.”

The two of you struggle to walk across the desert and then weave through the forest, but after a lot of groaning and stumbling, you eventually reach your cave home. You lay the yellow blooded troll down as gently as possible, though he still hisses softly when the movement strains his wound. Just as you get the stranger situated, you guardian walks in as well, carrying a pile of fire wood. She freezes in the entrance of the cave when she spots your guest.

“Who is this?” she asks in a polite tone, though it sounds strained as her eyes flicker nervously toward the stranger. The younger troll goes extremely still, body locking up tensely at he stares wide eyed at your mother. You sit down next to him and pat his shoulder.

“I found him in the desert,” you state. “I think he got attacked or something earlier. Do you think you can help him?” Your mother stares at you for a long moment before glancing back at your new companion. She gaze settles on the poorly wrapped bandages on his side, and her expression softens considerably.

“Of course I can, dear,” she responds and you smile widely at her. The other troll lets out a soft sigh from beside you, and you feel him relax slightly. 

“Look at his eyes, though!” you suddenly add in. “I didn't know eyes could be those colors.” The Dolorosa laughs at your excited expression, while the stranger gives you a sideways look.

“He’s a psionic, darling,” she says with a smile. “It means he has kinetic abilities.” You gasp slightly, turning toward the troll in question with your mouth gaping.

“Wait. So you can move stuff with your mind?” you ask excitedly, and the other troll’s cheeks dust lightly with yellow, blushing over the sudden attention on him.

“Yeah…” he mumbles quietly, and you grin happily at him. Your smile quickly morphs into a frown as you suddenly realize something.

“Hey. What’s your name, anyway?” The young troll fidgets slightly with the hem of his shirt before answering.

“The Psiioniic. You spell it with double ‘i’s.” You beam happily at the Psiioniic, who nervously returns to gesture.

“Nice to meet you. You can call me the Signless.” You notice your guardian raise an eyebrow at your self-proclaimed name, but she doesn’t comment.

You guess it’s going to stick, then.

_______________________________________________________________________________________-

“You’re leaving already?”

The Psiioniic nods, face downcast as he tries not to meet your eyes.

“My master is probably beginning to wonder where I’ve gone. If I stay any longer, he’ll send the drones out after me.”

Your guardian had explained to you after the first night of housing your new friend that the Psiioniic was a slave troll. It isn’t uncommon for trolls with psionic abilities to be kept as slaves, seeing as they are very useful and powerful and also generally low bloods. In fact, it’s actually quite uncommon for a psionic to not be held in slavery by one of a higher class. Apparently, the Psiioniic had been sent out on a survival test in the desert area to analyze his strength and durability, another practice common of new psionic slave owners. On the second night of his trial he had been attacked by some wild creature, leaving him to bleed out alone in the cold sands. That is, until you found him.

But now it seems he is leaving once more.

“It’s stupid that everything has to be like this,” you mutter angrily. “You shouldn’t have to go back to some guy that tries to kill you in the wild!” You friend glances up to fix you with a pupil-less stare, mouth tilting up into a sad smile.

“I’m sorry, Signless, but that’s just how blood ranking works.” You sigh loudly at his words before your face suddenly shifts into a determined expression.

“Well, I believe,” you starts with a confident tone, “that one day blood color won’t matter. And everyone will be able to live as equals.” You fix the Psiioniic with a hard look. “I’ve seen it in my dreams. I’ve seen what it’s like. I know we can do it.” Your friend lets out an airy laugh.

“Then I hope your dreams are true,” he says, “But it seems a little farfetched.” You swat him upside the head as he continues chuckling, pouting slightly. You realize with a start that this may be the last time in a long while that you will see your first and only friend. Picking up the sickle you use for hunting from beside you, you raise it up to the Psiioniic, who gives you an odd look.

“We should make a mark or something,” you reason, “So that we don’t forget each other. Sort of like a promise to see each other again in the future.” Understanding passes over his face, and your friend nods vigorously. Taking the weapon from you, he tilts the sickle point down over his opposite hand and then makes a small ‘X’ on the back of the hand, not too deep as to really injure him but just enough that it will scar. A thin trail of yellow seeps down from the wound as he hands the blade back to you. You waste no time in repeating the same act on your own hand, and your own bright red blood soon shows obviously from the small cut. You glance back up at the Psiioniic to see that his jaw has dropped, out right gaping at your ‘X’ shaped wound.*

“W-what?” is all he stammers out, but you just smile widely at him.

“I will change the hemospectrum,” you state simply. “After all, I’m already changing it by simply existing.”

_______________________________________________________________________________

Many sweeps pass, and before you know it you finally reach adulthood. Even after all that time, your dreams are still just as present as ever.

You decide now is a good time to start putting them into action.

________________________________________________________________________________

“And through equality, we can finally reach true peace throughout all of Alternia!” you exclaim to the small crowd of onlookers before you. You’re standing on a small rock ledge, with just enough height that you can easily look out over the entirety of your small gathering. Many of the trolls present seem apathetic about your whole speech, gazes drifting around in apparent boredom. However, there are those few who gaze up at you with rapt attention, eyes full of hope and wonder. It is because of these rare few that you continue this seemingly fruitless endeavor. There is still a sliver of light left in this increasingly grim looking attempt, so still you persist. 

You have begun to wear your own blood color on your clothing, just as most other trolls did with their own garments. The Dolorosa hand makes them for you, mostly black with veins of candy red designs woven across it with immense care. 

Your mother had become your first real follower, and no longer does she brush off your dreams of a brighter future. Even now she stands beneath you with the rest of the crowd, smiling proudly as you preach your ideals and beliefs to the others. 

However, it seems this particular sermon is being cut short, as the sounds of heavy footsteps reach your ears. Your head spins around quickly to see a large mass approaching from the distance. You curse to yourself as you recognize the sight of a crowd of imperial drones. Spinning back toward your own group, you send them all an apologetic smile.  
“I guess that’s all for today, folks. Best be running off now. It seems we have some unpleasant company.” You gesture behind you, and many people gasp when they catch site of the group of drones coming closer. Your own crowd disperses quickly until only you and your own mother are left.

“Well,” you start, rubbing the back of your neck, “we’d better hide now, then.” You let out a short laugh, which your mother responds to with an unamused look. The two of you quickly rush off into a nearby forest, careful to cover your tracks once you enter the wooded area. Soon, you come to a cave, so well concealed that you almost miss it. You both sneak inside and re-cover the entrance. Crouching down, you notice that you can still see down into the valley you had just fled from by looking out the mouth of the cave. You gaze down at the drones gathering in the land below, heart racing as they skirt around the edge of the forest as well. After what seems like eternity, the group of drones congregates back together, apparently not finding what they had been searching for and being to unconcerned to search further. You silently watch them go, moving away just as swiftly as they had come. 

Leaning back on the cave wall, you let out a loud sigh of relief. The Dolorosa seems equally thankful for the retreat of the drones, clutching at her chest as she tries to even out her nervous breaths to a more calm state.

“That was some speech you gave there,” a voice calls from behind you and you yelp loudly in surprise. Your mother also jumps slightly beside you, and both your heads snap back to look at the troll woman giggling to herself in the back of the cave. “Sorry, sorry,” she says with a grin. “Didn’t mean to startle you. You both just seemed so focused that I thought I should wait a bit before introductions.” You can’t help but grin back at the other troll, offering your hand out toward her.

“Thank you for not alerting the drones on us then. I’m the Signless, though it seems you already know that.” The woman lets out a small laugh, accepting your hand in her strong grasp and giving it a good shake.

“No problem,” she replies. “My name’s the Disciple.” The Dolorosa still seems a bit uncertain about the new troll, so you decide to introduce her yourself.  
“This is my mother, the Dolorosa.” You gesture over toward where she sits by the entrance, and the Disciple gives her a small smile and wave. The Dolorosa nods politely in response, but otherwise says nothing. Turning her gaze back toward you, the cave’s owner smiles widely once more.

“So, Signless,” she begins, “I’ve been listening to you talk all day and I must say that that’s a very interesting dream you got there.” Her eyes are wide, shining bright with excitement as she stares into your face. “Do you mind telling me more about it?” Her expression turns pleading, and you realize that this woman is one of the few, one of those rare people who seem to hang on to your every word.

All you can do is open your mouth and begin to recount your dreams to her.

_______________________________________________________________________________

You climb down from your place among the low branches of a large tree as you finish yet another sermon. The crowds are much larger now, and surprisingly there seems to be more attentive people than not nowadays. The Disciple has become your most faithful follower, possibly more so than even the Dolorosa. She travels with you to every new location you go to, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t ended up falling completely and totally in love with her.  
However, before you can go and search out your most wonderful companion, a voice calls out from nearby.

“Signless.”

You turn to see a tall troll gazing back at you, face devoid of all emotion. His outfit is a bright yellow, with a few black markings like that of a yellow blooded slave’s uniform. You can tell he’s a psionic by his different colored eyes, which is really not all that surprising. Psionic slaves seem to be quite common at your speeches, and are often some of your most attentive listeners. You never seem to see the same psionic more than once, though, most likely on the account that they are forbidden from seeing you by their masters or something to that aspect. 

Not one of them has ever talked to you, though.

“Oh, hello there,” you greet, offering the other troll a small smile he does not return. You’re about to ask him what he needs when your eyes catch on the back of his hand.  
More specifically the ‘X’ shaped scar on the back of said hand.

“Psiioniic?” you exclaim, eyes snapping back to his face as you try and fail to not gape openly at him. 

“Yes,” is his only response, voice even, holding no hint of his thoughts over your reuniting. You don’t care. You throw your arms around him anyway, embracing him like a long lost brother.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” you mumble into his shoulder. Your friend stands stiff as a board, arms tense at his sides as you continue to hold onto him tightly.

“I apologize,” the Psiioniic states as you finally release him, and you can’t help but frown at the dull tone of voice.

“Are you alright?” you ask, voice laced with concern. He only nods, face set as he clasps his hands behind his back. You wave off your growing concern, choosing instead to change topics.

“How did you get here?” The Psiioniic looks directly into your eyes when he responds, which unnerves you slightly due to the lack of emotion in his gaze.

“I have left my master in favor of following you.” He doesn’t go into much detail about what “leaving his master” entails, but for some reason you think it’s better not to ask. 

“Why?” you question instead.

“I had a promise to keep.” You mull the response over in your mind for a minute, until the words leave a sour taste in your mouth. You especially didn’t like the tone of voice he had said it in. As if he was obeying some sort of command.

“Did you want to come see me?” you ask, and this time you’re the one gazing back into his eyes. You think you see some sort of emotion flicker across his face, but it’s gone so quickly that you think you might have just been imagining it.

“I do not understand,” he replies, and you cross your arms in front of you.

“I mean was the only reason you came here because of some promise you made to me in the past? Or did you really want to come?” 

“I had a promise to-“

“Yes, I know about the promise!” you yell, moving up to get into his face. “I’m asking how you feel about that promise.” This time you definitely aren’t imagining the look of confusion that passes over your old friend’s face.

“My…feelings?”

“Yes, your feelings!” You’re staring directly up into his eyes now, and you can easily note the look of panic within their depths.

“I..I don’t…” He cleared his throat loudly, eyes shifting away from your wide gaze. “My opinion does not matter.”

“Of course it matters! It always matters!” you exclaim, forcing his eyes to snap back to yours once more. You sigh softly, lifting a hand to rub at the bridge of your nose. “I just wanted to know,” you continue in a quiet voice “…if my old friend is still in there. Or if you’re even really my friend anymore…” You stare back up at the Psiioniic’s face, only to see his emotionless mask slowly falling to pieces, leaving behind a broken, tired, and lost troll in its wake. His hands move out to grasp your cloak and pull you into a tight hug. Before you know it, hot tear are soaking into your clothing as he buries his face in your cloak. He sobs loudly, muttering the same phrase over and over again. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” It reminds you of the first time the two of you met, though the apologies are both for very different reasons.

You hug him back warmly, while internally you are fuming with rage. You have heard about what slavery can do to the minds of trolls, yet you never truly understood until now. Your own friend had thought he was worthless, nothing, not even capable of making his own decisions without some sort of outward force or drive to do so. It’s disgusting. Horrifying.

It needs to stop.

____________________________________________________________________________

 

You continue spreading your message throughout Alternia. The Psiioniic slowly comes out of his emotionless shell as time goes on, deciding on joining you, the Dolorosa, and the Disciple as you travel. Your following is constantly growing larger and larger every day. Everything seems to be going perfectly. 

Too bad it’s too good to last.

____________________________________________________________________________

 

“Surrounded,” you muttered tiredly, gazing at the circle of high blood trolls encasing you and your companions from all sides. They all have weapons drawn, dangerous looks smeared across every single one of their faces. You sigh loudly, eyes downcast as you make no move to return their threatening looks. **

“Come on, it’s not over yet!” the Psiioniic hisses, red and blue sparks flickering off of his eyes and hands as he glares out at the hostile group. “We can still fight!” 

The Psiioniic mentioned to you once on your travels that as a slave he was forced to fight and even kill other trolls, a job often given to ones with strong abilities (psionic or otherwise). So it’s really no surprise when your friend’s first instinct is attack when faced with a threat. 

You shake your head sadly at him, clasping your hands tightly in front of your chest as you close your eyes. You feel the prickling of tears forming at the edges of your eyes, but you force them down.

“No, my friend,” you whisper, taking slow, deep breaths as you bow your head. You hear the Psiioniic curse beside you.

“No?” he shouts, and you note the crackling noise of more colorful sparks flying. “Are you really going to give up? Just like that?” 

“Come on. We have to try, don’t we?” you hear the Disciple’s voice pipe up on your other side, followed by the unmistakable sound of her unsheathing her metal claws from the gauntlets she wore on her hands.

“What about your dream?” the Psiioniic yells, voice shaking and you can just imagine him clenching his teeth in obvious frustration. Still, you shake your head.

“Violence goes against everything I have ever taught,” you state, though you can’t help the sound of complete and utter defeat from standing out in your voice. “If I act out now, I am just another hypocrite.” You hear the shuffling of feet as the crowd of high bloods moves closer to your group, but you remain with your head bowed. “If any of you wish to leave,” you go on, “I do not blame you. They are only after me, you know. Escape while you still can.” A loud snort comes from beside you.

“Are you insane?” the Psiioniic responds. “After all I’ve given up to be here, I would be completely crazy to leave you now.” You open your eyes to meet his gaze, his mouth twisting up into a bitter smile. “I’m not going anywhere.” A warm hand clasps your shoulder, and you turn to see your mother smiling softly at you, though her eyes are filled with a deep sorrow.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers, pulling you into a hug. You cling to her just like when you had been a child, and you have the strong urge to cry once more. The ominous group is very close now, but you finally turned toward your Disciple last.

She says no words, just smiles sadly, face already covered in wet tear tracks. Instead, she grabs you roughly and pulls you toward her, lips meeting in a desperate kiss. You hold her close to you, and before you know it you’re crying as well. 

It ends just as suddenly, though, as a hand grasps you by the back of the hood and pulls you apart roughly. 

The circle closes.

_______________________________________________________________________________

“Well, well. If it isn’t the little trouble maker himself,” a dark voice taunts. 

You’ve heard much about the Alternian queen, the Condesce. She rules the planet with an unshakable power, cruel and sinister, and is a high enforcer of the hemospectrum hierarchy. She’s been around for as long as anyone can remember, high bloods having such high life expectancies compared to other trolls. And now you finally get to meet her face to face. 

The Condesce smiles a mocking smile at you, showing off rows of pointed white teeth. Her mounds of black hair bounce slightly as she stalks back and forth in front of you.  
You are chained by your wrists to a rocky outcrop; the metal bounds holding you are red hot and causing the skin underneath them to burn agonizingly. You bite back a scream as you shiver slightly, a strong gust of wind leaving your chest cold after they had stripped you of your cloak and shirt.

Multiple deep gashes litter your torso, and your bright, mutant blood flows richly for all to see. 

You glance to the side to see the Dolorosa collapsed onto the ground, a group of high bloods holding her by the hair as she sobs deeply into her hands.

You’ve never seen your mother cry before.

Another troll (a blue blood, you remember) had dragged your Disciple away moments before. She had gone kicking and screaming your name, and your throat had gone dry from screaming back as well. You don’t know what they’ve done to her.

You fear the worst.

A harsh slap across the face brings your focus back to the female before you.

“It’s not polite to ignore someone when they’re talking to you,” the Condesce says in a sickeningly sweet tone. You glare, but otherwise stay silent. She tuts softly, waving a finger in your face. “Someone’s been a very bad boy. Starting up his own silly, childish revolution.” She laughs, but her laugh is high and cold. It sends a chill up your spine. She waves toward one of other high bloods, who moves forward to hand her a large, golden trident. She giggles in dark humor at the object before turning back toward you. “You’ve been awfully silent for one known for spewing nonsense to no end.” The Condesce smiles her sharp smile. “Fitting.” Then she stabs the weapon into your stomach.

You gasp loudly as blood pours out of the new wound, too weak to even scream at the immense pain you’re in. Someone else does for you, though.

“No!” a voice yells out, tone filled with pure agony. You can barely lift your own head, but you use your remaining energy to look at the Psiioniic as he struggles against his captors. The Condesce just waves in his direction, and a troll standing behind your friend takes this as a cue to knock him unconscious. A small group drags him away, but as your eyes tiredly follow him, you make eye contact with another troll among the crowd of onlookers. While obviously a teal blood by the clothing color, she also is dressed in much bright red, the same shade of red as your odd blood. Even her pointed glasses are the same color. She doesn’t change her facial expression when she catches your eye. Just raises her hands to make two sort of reversed symbols, one over top of the other.

It takes you a moment to realize that it’s the same symbol as the very clasps that bind you (a symbol later to be known as the astrological sign for Cancer). You almost laugh out loud at the sight, but you’re simply too weak, your own life slipping away into the dirt below as you bleed out against the rock at your back.

You realize that you haven’t lost. Not really. This one troll is proof that, despite your downfall, others still believe. Others still fight and preach and do all the things that you no longer can do yourself. As your eyes close, your heartbeat slowing and your breaths becoming less and less frequent, you discover that you finally have a true name for yourself.

Your name is the Sufferer, and thought it may seem like the end, in reality it is only just the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> *Based off of the scene from Primary Colors (http://airred.tumblr.com/post/12730702690/i-made-a-draw-guys-primary-colors-is-the-cutest) 
> 
> **Sort of based off of this post on tumblr not not really (crediting them anyway cause it's great) http://lolikarkat.tumblr.com/post/46308336098
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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